CHAPTER 7
Lila - April
I was five years old the first time someone made me question my worth.
Growing up, I’d always been a bubbly kid. I never held in my laughter, always wondered out loud when I had questions, and asked for what I needed.
I got that last trait from my aunt Maddie, no doubt.
But all that confidence didn’t sit well with many, especially not when I was also on top of every class and good at sports. I wasn’t rubbing my accomplishments in anyone’s face, but I wasn’t hiding them either. Why would I? Was I not supposed to feel proud of myself?
And I did—I felt proud and deserving of everything I worked hard for. My family cheered me on and taught me to value myself, so I didn’t know how to do anything else.
Until that day.
It all started because Trish, one of my then friends, was feeling down after getting her progress report.
“I got three Unsatisfactory,” she complained, and I felt for her. I truly did. I knew how much effort she put into her classes, but her results didn’t always show it. “It’s so bad.”
“You’ll get better next year,” I remember saying, putting an arm around her shoulders to comfort her. It wasn’t much, but I’d never been one to ignore people who needed cheering up. “Your moms will understand.”
“I hope they let me go to the pool this summer.” She sounded and looked defeated as the rest of our friends kept their gazes trained on the ground, uncomfortably kicking the gravel around us. “What did you get?”
“Huh?”
“On your progress report.”
“Oh. All Satisfactory.”
Our friends stopped kicking the ground, their gazes snapping up at me.
Trish shrugged my arm off her shoulders.
The energy shifted in an instant, and at the time, I didn’t understand why.
Victor, a good friend from my very first day at preschool, spoke next. “So you think you’re better than us?”
I remember the exact feeling of my stomach sinking. “What?” I repeated, dumbfounded. “I don’t.”
They had asked me a question, and I’d only answered. Had I said something wrong? Was I supposed to lie?
“All Satisfactory,” Trish said, mimicking my voice. “You’re not cooler than us.”
“I’m not saying that!” I stood, agitated. “I was just telling the truth. You asked me a question!”
Trish rolled her eyes. “If you think you’re so smart, you can find other friends.”
I didn’t have that kind of vocabulary at the time, but today I think back on that moment and the only words that come to mind are what the fuck .
I hadn’t meant to brag. Why was everyone suddenly giving me the stink eye? Like I had just destroyed their self-confidence on purpose?
When I saw those same friends on the first day of the new school year, everything went back to normal. They weren’t angry anymore, but I was confused. Even so, I decided to ignore it because I hated conflict—still do—and maybe I had imagined it all. Or maybe they’d forgotten about it.
Whatever. Everything was fine. I was fine.
Until I was fifteen and I found out my group of friends had been saying not-so-kind things about me behind my back. That I was so stuck-up, so better than everyone else , nobody truly wanted to be my friend.
As a teenager, it was a brutal blow to my self-esteem.
And it didn’t stop there—every time I achieved something, I would get a backhanded comment about how I shouldn’t share how well I was doing because someone else was struggling.
Slowly, my head turned into a mess. On one side, I had my family telling me that I should be proud of myself. But on the other hand, I had “friends” telling me not to brag or to think I was better than everyone else, even though I never had. Not for one second.
Oliver told me to my face that I don’t deserve to be a youth counselor because I have no idea what it’s like to live a harsh childhood. That I must be in this profession just to feed my ego.
His words, piled up on top of years and years of friends and classmates telling me that it must be easy to get such good grades when all you have to worry about is your academic performance, gave way to this…this monster called insecurity.
But, if I really think about it, I can’t complain—because they’re right. I have it easy, and I shouldn’t turn myself into a victim when there are people out there who have it much, much worse. People who have to take care of sick relatives or don’t have the means to access higher education in the first place.
I’m just having a bad day, overreacting. All these bitter thoughts will be gone tomorrow.
“Earth to Lila.”
I blink as my mother’s waving hand comes into focus. “Huh?”
My dad leans over the dining room table as we’re having dinner, a concerned notch between his dark brows. “Are the vegetables trying to communicate with you? Should we hold a séance?”
I try not to smile, making a point to glare at him. “Go ahead. See if we can contact your dead sense of humor.”
He barks out a laugh, my mother joining him. “I probably deserved that one.”
“Only probably.”
My mom asks, mirth mixing with worry in her eyes, “Why do you look so out of it today, honey? Did something happen?”
If there’s one downside to living with my parents, it’s this. I love them, and we’ve always had a great relationship, but I can’t hide anything from them, and sometimes it’s a little inconvenient.
I tend to go to Maddie when something is bothering me—to Uncle James too—because sometimes a girl wants to talk to her cool aunt rather than to her parents. But there’s no escaping this conversation tonight, if only because my dad looks a second away from panicking.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” I mutter.
Because it’s really not.
“Then why do you look so upset?” That’s my mom.
Everyone says we look alike because we have the same wavy blonde hair—although mine is considerably longer. I’m clearly her daughter, but I get my personality mostly from my dad, which is a fun fact I conveniently remind him of every time he thinks I’m being too stubborn because he’s a million times worse.
My dad, with his imposing height and neck and arms fully covered in ink that make him look way younger than his sixty years, sighs. “Fine. Who do I have to kill?”
“Stop it, Cal,” my mom scolds, but her eyes are smiling. “Let her talk.”
He throws her a wink. “Whatever you want, sunshine.”
Gag .
“I’m going to ignore that for the sake of my mental health,” I say, repressing a shudder.
I love my parents and how much they love each other, but they can be disgustingly cheesy sometimes. Or all the time.
“Drama queen,” my dad mutters under his breath, smirking at my killing stare.
“Anyway.” I let out a deep sigh. “I’m just worried about this internship.”
“Which internship?” my mom asks.
The back of my neck suddenly itches. “The one at the youth center.”
My parents stay silent as they wait for me to explain something I really don’t want to get into right now. But I also don’t want my dad to worry, thinking something terrible is happening to me— he’s the drama queen—so that’s why I add, “I just don’t know if I should take it.”
The words taste sour in my mouth as soon as I say them.
It’s been a little over two weeks since my interview. Haniyah has been nothing but welcoming to me, the facilities look amazing, and the internship program sounds exactly like what I’ve been waiting for. In fact, it sounds even better than the summer camp.
“Why are you hesitant?” my dad asks.
I shift on my seat, glancing around the open-concept kitchen and living room for a moment. This is the house where I grew up with Maddie before we both moved out at different times, my safe haven. Most of my happy childhood memories happened between these walls with my parents and my aunt, and it’s sad to think I’m in this mental space right now. I don’t have a right to complain about this when the people in front of me have given me so much and still do.
I look away from a framed picture of me with my little cousins, Maddie and James’s children, and tell them the truth. “Because Dr. Abner would be my supervisor.”
My mom blinks. “Reed? But that’s good, isn’t it?”
I lift my glass to my lips and take a sip of cold water, saying nothing. My throat burns.
My dad turns to my mom. “Did I miss something? Do we not like Reed now?”
“Yes, honey, we still like Reed.” When she turns to me, all playfulness is gone from her voice. “He’s the best counselor I’ve ever worked with by far . Went above and beyond for those books as if they were his own. Why are you having doubts?”
“I guess I just don’t…” I hesitate. “I don’t want to get special treatment for being your daughter. That’ll get people talking, and it’s not the kind of attention I need.”
My mom shakes her head. “You’ve got it all wrong. Reed doesn’t care about any of that. Take me as an example—we’ve been working together for years, and we’re friends, but when something about my books isn’t working, he never sugarcoats it.”
“Mmm…” An unsure, noncommittal sound is all she’s getting from me. My head is so loud that no coherent words would come out anyway.
“I’m serious, Li,” she insists, probably reading my mind in that creepy way moms do. “He won’t care that you’re my daughter; if you don’t meet his standards, he’ll tell you. He won’t let you do a subpar job.”
“There. Problem solved,” my dad declares as he finishes his food. “He doesn’t care about your family tree, so no special treatment for you. You’ll have to work hard for it like the rest of us peasants.”
I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms and suppress a groan. “Okay, fine. He doesn’t care if I’m your daughter. Great. But what if other students find out my mom’s colleague is conveniently my internship supervisor? I don’t want them to spread any rumors that I’m a snob or something. That someone else deserves all these opportunities, but I’m getting them instead because of my family’s connections.”
My mom blinks, looking at me like she’s never seen me before. “Where is this coming from, Lila?”
My stomach sinks as I lie. “I’m just overthinking it.”
“Okay, let’s forget about Reed for a second,” my dad says. “If he weren’t in the picture, would you take this internship?”
“Yes.” I don’t hesitate. “The program sounds amazing, and they’re doing a great job at helping the children in our community.”
“There’s your answer, then. Stop worrying and listen to your gut.”
But I shake my head. “It’s more complicated than that, Dad. I’m graduating this year. I just need to do my thing and fly under the radar. If people find out about the internship, they’ll start talking.”
“How would they even find out?” he asks.
“We talk about those things.”
“So lie to them.”
“I don’t want to lie.” I turn to my mom, who’s been suspiciously quiet for the past few minutes. “What do you think?”
“I think…” She pauses, and I already know I’m not going to like what she’s going to say next. “I think you’ve always worried too much about what other people think of you, Lila, and it’s getting out of hand.”
I freeze. “Mom, I—”
But she isn’t hearing me.
She doesn’t look upset or angry as she stands from the dining table, disappearing into the kitchen behind her. My mom isn’t prone to dramatic outbursts, which means her silence is the scary warning sign.
I share a look with my dad, me freaked out and him amused. He mouths to me, “ Good luck. ”
“Where are you going?” I call out to my mom. My voice is only shaking a little.
It doesn’t take her more than a few moments to come back, but she isn’t looking at me. She’s holding her phone, her eyes glued to the screen as she types away. “Shock therapy.”
That makes my heart start beating uncontrollably, and not in a good way.
“I’m inviting Reed for dinner tomorrow so you get over this weird apprehension about something terrible happening when you’re around him.” No way in hell .
“Mom, I don’t think this is necessary.”
“I think it’s very necessary.” She sits back down and gives me a look between concern and worry. I don’t like it one bit. “I understand not wanting people to think you don’t deserve what you have. But you’re letting people who don’t know you or care about you dictate your life choices. Your dad and I won’t sit here and watch you say no to things you want to do just because someone else might think you’re getting undeserved help. You know you aren’t, and that should be enough.”
I hate that her words make so much sense.
I hate that my brain agrees, but my heart refuses to accept it.
“We’re going out for dinner tomorrow. I’ve just invited Reed so you can talk about your internship and hopefully see how worthwhile it’ll be to say yes. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you avoid him every time you’re in the same room.”
“It’s not personal,” I argue. “I truly have nothing against him. I’ve even read his papers and attended his talks. I admire his work a lot, but—”
“No buts,” my dad interrupts. “Your mom is right, Li. This is going too far. You need to face your fears head-on. Who cares what other people think or say about you? Don’t give them so much power over your life, little sunshine. You’re the only one in charge of it.”
I don’t bother telling him that he’s wrong, that I’m very much not in charge of anything in my life. Because if someone suddenly decides to start a rumor about how my mom got me the internship instead of my own merits, I’ll be done for. Nobody likes nepotism.
How is that being in control?
“He’s just replied,” my mom says, checking her phone. “Looks like he’s free tomorrow night. Wonderful.”
Ground, please swallow me.